Alone
by panni2
Summary: After his angry interrogation, Foggy leaves Matt broken in both the body and the heart. Just as Stick wanted, Matt becomes Daredevil, no strings attached. He throws himself into danger without caution. After all, he has no one left. No one to worry, and no one to care.
1. Loneliness

_Foggy hates me._

The thought burned. Fire scalded his chest, raging ferociously.

 _I deserve it._

Stick's voice echoed in his mind.

"Cut 'em loose, for their sake. Break their hearts if you have to."

 _Break their hearts. No no no no no no. Break Foggy. Foggy hates me. Oh god, he hates me. Foggy. Hates hates hates hates me. I deserve it. Oh god, I deserve it. I'm so sorry. So sorry. Sorry sorry sorry.  
_

Tears streamed down his face, wetting the soft couch pillow.

"Foggy, I'm so sorry," Matt whispered. "You're all I have. Please."

"He's all you _had._ Foggy's gone now, and he's never coming back," Stick's cruel voice reminded him.

 _Never coming back?_

The old man cackled.

"When I told you to break his heart, I never thought the righteous Matthew Murdock was capable of betrayal."

 _Betrayal._

"I betrayed Foggy," he gasped in disbelief.

"Yes, and now you're alone. Just like you should be."


	2. Numbness

The best word he could use to describe it was numbness. He was hollow, unfeeling. A shell. Nothing mattered. During the night, he would destroy his fists. He'd beat them against punching bags, walls, people. He grew remorseless. He didn't care. About the people he hurt. The people that got in the way. But he was still determined to make a difference in the city. That was his job. It was the only thing he was good at. The only thing he had left. In the mornings he found himself on the floor below the window, barely making it inside before collapsing. His body always ached. Sometimes he'd be bruised, most times he'd be bleeding. But he never felt the sharp pain of a stab wound or cut. He was simply numb. Numb from pain but desperate to save as many people as he could. So desperate. He wanted to prove to himself that he was a hero. He hoped that if someone looked past his betrayal and his cruel dishonesty, that they would see a hero. That's all he wanted. Forgiveness.

The truth was, he was a coward. He _knew_ he was a coward. Always terrified. Terrified for the people he loved. No, terrified of himself. Terrified that he would become what he hunted. Terrified that he would hurt those he loved. Whether it was with his fists or his words, he knew it would happen one day. But, he was selfish. A selfish coward. Keeping his friends close, while pushing them far away. So far away, that they could no longer recognize him. Did he recognize himself? It didn't matter. He didn't deserve forgiveness.

He saved a girl the other night. She was young, all high voice and choked crying. She would have died if he hadn't saved her. The morning after he woke up with a broken rib and a dozen bruises. He knew that it was worth it. She would have _died_ without him. And she was worth so much more than him. Her life was worth so much more than his. The life of a screw-up. The nine-year-old boy who who got poison in his eyes. The boy who couldn't grow up without a father. The boy that wasn't _tough enough_ to grow up without a father. The man that couldn't protect his best friend. The man that broke his best friend's heart. A screw-up, through and through.

So if he came back with a few broken bones, it didn't matter. Because those broken bones saved someone's life. Every night he saved someone's life. Every night. It was the only thing he knew he was doing right. And if one night he didn't make it back to the bloody floor beneath his window, it didn't matter. Because he had saved those lives. And they were worth so much more than him. Worth so much more than he could ever be.


	3. Blame

"Matt, what did I do?" Foggy asked dejectedly. Matt turned abruptly at the sound of his best friend's voice. _Former best friend_ , he reminded himself.

"What?" he wondered, surprised. Foggy hadn't spoken to him since... well, since that night.

"What did I do to convince you that you couldn't trust me?" His voice sounded cautious, even timid. Like he was afraid that in starting a conversation, Matt would reveal another dark secret, and betray him further. Matt gripped the office door's frame.

"Foggy, I do trust you. You're the only one I've ever trusted." His statement seemed empty, even as his emotion trembled behind it. Foggy's voice rose in volume as his anger grew.

"How can you say that?" he demanded. "After all your lies? How can I believe another word that comes out of your mouth?" It stung. Every word a slice to his chest. Part of him felt relieved that he could still feel the pain, he'd buried it so deep.

"There hasn't been a person that I have trusted more than you, Foggy," he replied quietly. "But I know I don't deserve for you to believe me."

"You're right, you don't." Foggy assured him. He took a deep breath and continued. "For years, I thought I knew everything there was to know about Matt Murdock. I knew his favorite foods, drinks, places. I knew how to take care of him when he was sick. I knew which days of the year I'd hear him crying himself to sleep. I knew when he needed a friend, but was too stubborn to ask. And he knew all these things about me, too." Foggy added softly. He paused, watching Matt for a reaction. "Then, this masked vigilante came out of the night. I knew nothing about him. No one knew anything about him. And I found out that this villain, this possible _murderer_ was one and the same as my best friend. Suddenly, the man who I lived with, laughed with, and set out to save the _goddamn_ world with became the man that I couldn't understand. The man I couldn't _trust_. But what did I do to show him he couldn't trust me?"

Tense silence settled in the room. Matt clenched his teeth together, straining to lock his tears behind his eyes.

"Foggy, it was never your fault," he choked out. "It's always been mine. It's me. I couldn't- I, I needed- I'm not- I-" Matt felt the pressure inside him grow. There was no longer room for thought, for sense. He couldn't _make_ any sense. Sense of his words, sense of himself. He needed to get out. Matt stumbled stiffly towards the door. He couldn't concentrate on anything but the pain in his throat and behind his eyes. He groped the door's surface awkwardly before finding the knob and throwing himself through the exit.


	4. Turning Point

Authors Note: Sorry this isn't a very long chapter, but I wanted to let you guys know that I haven't given up on the story. Enjoy! :)

 _Previously:_

 _"_ _Foggy, it was never your fault," he choked out. "It's always been mine. It's me. I couldn't- I, I needed- I'm not- I-" Matt felt the pressure inside him grow. There was no longer room for thought, for sense. He couldn't make any sense. Sense of his words, sense of himself. He needed to get out. Matt stumbled stiffly towards the door. He couldn't concentrate on anything but the pain in his throat and behind his eyes. He groped the door's surface awkwardly before finding the knob and throwing himself through the exit._

Everything was vibrating. It was too loud, too bright, and there was an inescapable burn clawing its way up his throat. The heat rolled through him in waves as his heart rate sped up. The sounds of his panicked breathing echoed in the stairwell.

Matt moved solely on experience. He was disoriented, truly blind. He fell down the stairs, tripping over his own foot. Everything swirled around him. He lay, strewn across the bottom few steps, aching from bruises but not really caring. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks, stinging yesterday's cuts. It was all over. Matt Murdock no longer existed. He was only Daredevil now. He couldn't be Matt without Foggy. It was always Matt _and_ Foggy.

"Pathetic, absolutely pathetic," Sting sighed disdainfully.

Some time later, it was impossible to tell whether it was hours or only minutes, Matt heard a tentative voice at the top of the stairwell.

"Matt? Matt, are you okay?" It sounded so kind, Matt didn't think he could take it. He didn't think he could take it if he let himself hope. Because if he hoped and he was wrong, then his entire world would burn down around him. Again. And he knew that he would let it burn him away, too. So he picked himself up from the cold floor, impassively wiped the wetness from his face, and walked away without a reply. If there was a voice calling after him, Matt didn't hear it.


End file.
